Date: Thu, 3 Jul 1997 10:45:14 +1200
From: Ronald Thomas
Subject: THE 12.30 TRAIN
I thought there was something familiar about the man standing next to me at
the urinal. Something about him said I knew him. I did!
I'd met him on the 12.30 train that Wednesday years before. I made sure I
always travelled by that train on as many successive Wednesdays as possible.
I was eighteen and growing rapidly camp in the homophobic environs of Sydney
town that 1952. The psychological problems all this presented sent me to a
psychologist. At eleven each Wednesday I entered her clinic, talked about
life, and left. It was no fun, no fun at all - a parental duty I resented
until I met him on that train.
I always sat right at the back of the last carriage, the selected location
for a bit of a fiddle with a friend on the way home from college. I learned
to like this rear position, but never dreamed it would lead to a pick-up.
That Wednesday, that glorious Wednesday, the end seat was a two-seater, and
I was the only passenger in that section of the carriage. I thought it
strange he sat next to me when there were so many empty seats. But, when he
started to rub his crutch with his legs wide apart - or rather, as far apart
as he could get them without pushing me into the side of the carriage - I
knew what he wanted. I had been seduced before.
I responded immediately. Out came my prick, now rock hard; out came his
prick, well on the way to rock hardness. Over came his mouth - his
beautifully warm, moist mouth. His tongue licked me prick, his mouth sucked
my prick, his teeth nibbled my prick. I groaned with the sheer pleasure of
it. He certainly knew how to perform! What luck finding such an expert teacher.
We exchanged mouth positions. His prick was uncut, and handsome in all
respects. I had never sucked an uncut prick, but I quickly learned to nibble
the foreskin and put my tongue inside the moist cave the skin created, in
the brief two minutes between stations. His skin was like velvet. Then,
after the last station before he alighted we blew our load. I loved the feel
of his thick cocktail as it trickled down my throat. It was so deliciously
creamy, and just a trifle sweet.
As the Wednesdays passed, we looked forward with increasing eagerness to our
stolen moments. I waited, excited to the point of delirium, for him to
appear, for I relished his charm, his prick, and his uninhibitedness. I
didn't know such a man existed!
Between each meeting I fantasised over him. Even today, I become highly
excited thinking about him, thoughts guaranteed to produce a memorable climax.
At the end of my "treatment" we parted, destined not to meet again until
that urinal encounter several years later. Don't worry, we knew a safe haven
close by, and neither my nameless friend nor I was disappointed in another
stolen moment.